The Harpy
by Mummified Teenage Dreams
Summary: Nico di Angelo is an agent of the Cincinnati FBI. One day, he is pulled from his own case and into the criminal investigation of a serial killer, nicknamed the Harpy. He is a little bit unhappy about abandoning his own investigation, but little does he know that he's about to get a lot more troubled. Rated T for violence and minor language. FBI AU (alternate universe).
1. 1

**Hi, this is my first story. I realize I probably suck at writing fanfiction since I'm still new to it, but I'm open to all criticisms and advice. If you have anything to say, please don't hesitate. I also apologize in advance for grammar mistakes and potential out of character writing. I just really hope whoever reads this gets to enjoy it.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine! Cover art credit goes to the amazing tumblr user viria.**

 **Trigger warnings (for the entire story): Graphic/semi-graphic violence, smoking, blood, alcohol, knives, guns. Please don't hesitate to tell me if you would like a specific warning to be added at the beginning of any given chapter. Your safety matters. :)**

* * *

1.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._ Someone was knocking at his door.

"Come in," Nico di Angelo called from his office desk. He rubbed his temples, closing his eyes. Headaches, again. It was as if he had become immune to aspirin or something.

He heard the click of his door opening, and the familiar _flop_ of a fat folder being plopped down in front of him. Sighing, Nico opened his one of his eyes to look up at his partner's face. "What do you want?"

Will Solace was in his mid-twenties, yet to Nico, he looked more like a rebellious teen with his perpetually-messy mop of shaggy blonde hair on his head. Seeing the look in his partner's startling blue eyes, Nico groaned, sinking his face into his hands, rubbing them vigorously against his cheeks as if that would scrub all his problems away.

"They assigned us another case," Will told him, sitting down in the chair on the other side of Nico's desk. He licked his forefinger and opened the file. Nico kept his head in his hands, staring blankly at the desk with enough intensity to burn through the wooden surface.

"We just got _done_ with a case," Nico complained. He looked at his watch. "Not even twenty-four hours ago."

"Don't complain to me," Will replied. He laid out some pictures in front of Nico, making sure they were all facing him. "New day, new case. Tell me what you think."

"Who is this?" Nico asked, reluctantly resigning to tackle the task his job presented him. He rested his head on his right hand as he examined the pictures.

"The victim's name is Jason Grace. Twenty-nine. He worked as a neurosurgeon at the Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center, been treating kids for almost three years now. From what I've heard, people say he's a good guy. When he didn't show up for work three days in a row, one of his co-workers went to his house to investigate. Found him dead in his own chair and called it in."

Nico stared at the pictures before him. Jason Grace's corpse exhibited a laid-back posture as he lounged behind his mahogany work desk in what Nico presumed was a chair in his office, giving the illusion that he was alive. Everything on his desk was neat and tidy, stacks of paperwork held down by paperweights, a row of pilot pens next to his right hand, the white curtains behind him drawn back, even an upright Newton's cradle next to a journal. It seemed almost like just another Friday in the home office of a neurosurgeon.

Well, it would have looked that way except the blood.

The blood in the pictures were only pixels of color, but Nico di Angelo felt as if the sheer amount of crimson was going to overwhelm him, almost tasting the metallic tang on his tongue. The scarlet drops were scattered everywhere over the perfectly placed items on his desk, staining the mahogany and the virgin white of paper. A waterfall of red dribbled from an oozing stump of neck, soaking Jason Grace's suit and tie and dripping off the leather of his chair. One of the pictures revealed that a small puddle had formed around him.

Perched precariously on top of the oozing stump was Jason Grace's head, his eyes blank and staring. The lack of blood on his face was a stark contrast to his crimson-splattered surroundings. It didn't take an FBI agent to see that he had been beheaded painfully and purposefully.

Nico shivered. The pictures were so vivid that he almost felt as if he was there. "What kind of a killer beheads his victims?"

Will shrugged in response, saying nothing.

"Not only is it incredibly impractical not to mention insane, any smart killer knows that the pattern the knife leaves on a victim's neck is easily traceable to the knife in question."

"That's where it gets interesting," Will replied. "Forensics analyzed the wound and knife patterns when they got there. They found that the knife used to murder Jason Grace was actually one of his own kitchen knives. It was there with the rest of his set, no fingerprints, no clues. It was a dead end."

"That doesn't make any sense," Nico told him. He took his head off of his hand and made a "duh" gesture at his partner, his palm facing the ceiling.

"Well, the killer must've broken in and made a little detour to the kitchen first." Will shrugged again. "It was smart not to use his own murder weapon and take something from the house instead."

"That's not what I meant." Nico turned one of the pictures around with his index so that it was facing Will instead. "Look at it. If this man was beheaded in his chair or even in this room, there would've been a huge mess. The papers would've been everywhere, but they're still stacked neatly on his desk. This man wasn't killed in this room. Someone brought him here and set up a show _after_ they killed him."

Will stared at the pictures, thinking about Nico's words. "Couldn't the killer have placed everything back where it belonged after?"

"Still wouldn't be the same. The blood was applied while everything was where it is now in this picture." Nico frowned. "Which means that the killer had to break into the victim's house first, take a knife, go somewhere else to murder this man, and drag him back here for the finale."

"Weird," Will commented. "There weren't any signs of struggle or traces of blood anywhere else in the house. No signs of break-in either. None of the neighbors saw anything weird."

Nico's frown deepened. "There was no blood anywhere else? You sure?"

"Nope," Will replied. "You're lucky you weren't the one who had to get up at four in the morning just to see this damn crime scene."

"That makes things even weirder," Nico told his partner. "Because from the way it looks to me, this killer had to break into the house, get a knife, go somewhere else to behead this guy, drain at least a good percentage of his blood, drag him back to his house, and put the red dressing on him after all that work."

He hesitated, staring at the pictures with Will in silence.

"I mean," Nico continued after the pause. "How else could you explain that there is blood everywhere in this _one_ room where everything is untouched yet there is not a speck of blood anywhere else."

"Just to stage a show," Will concluded. "This wasn't just any homicide; this was theater."

Nico stood up and stretched. "We should try to ask some follow-up questions to the people he worked with, especially the guy who found the body. But first, I'm getting some coffee."

"Coffee first," Will agreed, shuffling everything back into the case file.

Nico di Angelo rubbed his eyes. The headache was only getting worse.


	2. 2

**Thanks for those of you who read/reviewed the first chapter! It really means a lot to me, since this is my first story. TW: violence, blood.**

* * *

2.

Nico watched as the dark brown liquid dribbled from the coffee container and into his cup, casting ripples across the surface. He imagined the color of dirt turning to blood-red shades of crimson, gathering in his cup the way it gathered beneath Jason Grace's chair. Sometimes, he felt as if his imagination got the better of him, but people say that was what made him a good agent.

"Di Angelo, Solace," came a sharp voice from the opposite side of the room.

Will and Nico both looked up from their coffee cups to see a familiar woman with jet-black braided hair and high heels deliberately walking towards the coffee station with the ever-present air of formality. Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano, or the bearer of bad news as she was commonly referred to by those she supervised, had an uncommonly long name to fit her time and title at the FBI, being the Executive Assistant Director for Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch. It was a mouthful to say, and her job was even more difficult to handle. Over her years of holding the title, she had earned a good deal of respect along with a reputation of being stern yet thorough with every case.

When she reached him, Reyna handed Will an even thicker file than the one he held. "You two have been reassigned to a new case."

"We just _got_ a new case this morning," Nico told her. "Why are you reassigning us so quickly?"

Complaining to the assistant director had the same effect of complaining to a rock wall. She sighed, flicking a strand of loose hair away from her face. "Believe me, I didn't ask for this. Topside wants more investigators on this case, so I had to put you guys on it instead of the one you got this morning."

Topside. Nico knew that Reyna was referring to the deputy director and, by association, the director himself. If they were involved in this, it must've been serious.

"And the case we're on now?" Will asked. "What's going to happen to that?"

"It hasn't been reassigned yet," Reyna replied, taking Will's previous case file away from him and tucking it under her arm in an exchange. "From what I see, we will probably need to abandon it. This was a one-time kill as of what we know so far. The case you're getting transferred to is much more important, especially to topside."

Nico must've been visibly displeased because his superior took one look at him and added, "Look, topside thinks it's serious enough to assign _me_ to help the investigation in addition to overseeing everything else. We need new eyes on this case. Try to see it from a different perspective, and come to better conclusions than the ones we have now."

With that, she walked away briskly, high heels clicking as she left.

"Well, the day just gets weirder and weirder," Will commented, bringing his attention back to his coffee.

"Guess we can't really complain if it's topside that assigned this," Nico told him. "Let's sit down and look at it while I still have the mind to. My coffee's getting tragically cold."

Back in Nico's office, Will opened the file. Sitting on opposite sides of the desk, Will placed the pictures and paperwork sideways so that they could both read.

"Why do they call him the _Harpy_?" Nico asked his partner, pointing at one of the forensics analysis papers with a label written at the top in sharpie. "Isn't that a bird?"

"Guess it's the way he kills his victims," Will supplied. "Harpy eagles pierce their prey's skull with their talons."

"That's all kinds of messed up. And just this morning, I thought beheading was the weirdest it was going to get for me today."

Will chuckled, but the expression faded away quickly as he scanned the summary of the case. "Whoever this guy is, he's been dropping bodies for some time now. Look at this—" he pointed at the report, angling it so Nico could read, "—he's killed five people already, all within the same two weeks."

"It says he just dropped three of the five bodies in the past three days," Nico pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. "They're becoming more and more frequent. That's probably what's gotten topside all ruffled up."

Will threw his empty coffee cup into the trash can next to Nico's desk. "These victims are all either in their twenties or thirties, but other than that, there's no connection. He's targeting people of all ethnicities and occupations."

"Even the age range is a bit sketchy to call a connection," Nico agreed. "Yet they say there's always a connection."

Will nodded in agreement. "You just have to know where to look."

Nico di Angelo stared at the pictures. The victims were always leaning against something, propping them up to give the illusion of sitting, just like how Jason Grace was propped up in his chair. Looking at a picture taken from a different angle revealed that the same victim had a puncture wound at the base of their skull, acting as a tap or a spout for their blood to pour through.

"The cause of death in every single one was brain trauma," Will informed Nico, showing him the forensics reports. "The weapon this guy used pierced through every victim's cerebellum and brainstem, but never went as far as penetrating the other side of the skull."

"This guy must've been a surgeon. Or have decent knowledge and experience with the human brain."

His partner nodded in silent agreement.

"And they don't have any leads after two weeks?" Nico asked, incredulous. "All they know is that he's got a history that's associated with brains or medicine?"

"Apparently so." Will held up yet another report out of the many papers stacked on top of one another. "From this map I'm looking at, it says that the bodies were found sporadically over the city, some towards the center and some towards the outer regions. There's no rhyme or reason to any of this."

"Intelligent psychopaths," Nico muttered under his breath. He finished the last of his now-cold coffee. "They know how to not get caught."

"What's the point of topside assigning more agents to this case if there aren't any leads to begin with?" Will grumbled. "There are literally no traceable patterns this killer has left except for the way he kills his victims. Without that, we wouldn't even know that these murders are associated with each other."

"If I were supervising this case, I would tell everyone to start at square one." Nico tapped at the picture of the first victim, a pretty girl with black hair and blue eyes who didn't look to be older than twenty. "It can't hurt to talk to the people who knew our first victim."

He tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash can and stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. With the new autumn chill, he was going to need the extra layers of warmth.

"Let's go."


	3. 3

**Thank you all for reading. For anyone who cares, I'm going to start updating more and more slowly now. I'm starting to realize that the stuff I write and edit in a day isn't as quality as what I write if I put more time and effort into it. TW: none.**

* * *

3.

"Mr. Beauregard, would you mind answering a few of our questions?" Will asked. Both he and Nico leaned forwards, resting their hands on their laps as they questioned the middle-aged father.

The home of Silena Beauregard and her father was plain and tidy. Minimalist would be a better word to describe it, Nico thought as he observed the kitchen and living room from his position on the leather living room couch. He noticed that the kitchen had enough chairs for two people to sit in and no more along with varied cooking appliances and tools available. In the living room, a couch that was just big enough to accommodate two rested in the center along with a coffee table and two rocking chairs by the fireplace. A flat screen TV covered the better half of one wall painted in a uniform shade of gray, and on the opposite wall, glass sliding doors lead to a miniature patio.

Nico and Will sat on the said leather couch, looking at Silena Beauregard's father, who occupied the rocking chair left of the cold hearth.

"Agents, forgive me," he replied calmly and softly. Though he maintained a stoic face and voice, Nico could hear the grief underlying his words. "I've already been through this with another pair of investigators, not three days ago. I don't understand why I have to go through this again."

Will, having more tact than Nico, answered the question. "We're very sorry to disturb you in your time of grief. Truly, we can't imagine how painful it is like for you. However, we're running out of leads to follow, and we're trying to start at square one to see if there's anything we missed. This will only take a second of your time, I promise."

Mr. Beauregard sighed, closing his eyes in a grimace. "If you insist, who am I to refuse? Ask away, agents."

"Did your daughter have any enemies?" Nico asked, knowing the answer before it came out of Mr. Beauregard's mouth.

"No," he answered, shaking his head without opening his eyes. "She was eighteen years old, for heaven's sake. No, she didn't have any enemies. She was well-liked at school, had good grades, part of the softball team. Silena rarely got into fights with her classmates, and none of the ones she had were serious enough to warrant her _death._ "

"Of course," Nico replied. He continued with the interrogation. "Before her death, did you notice anything out of the ordinary with her behavior? For example, did she mention going somewhere she hadn't been before to you?"

"Like a bar?" Mr. Beauregard responded. "You don't have to beat around the bush with me, agent. I know the standard questions."

Nico flushed a little at his words.

"To answer your question though, no, she didn't. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and even though every parent likes to say this or think this, Silena wasn't one to hide anything from me, not since her mother passed away. Even if she was hiding something, I didn't notice. There weren't any changes in her everyday schedule, her eating habits, her sleeping, her behavior, or anything at all."

Nico continued. "Silena was found in her high school parking lot. Any idea why she would be there?"

"Softball practice, from what I know," Mr. Beauregard sighed. "If not softball practice, graduation informational meeting. She was going to graduate this year."

At those words, Nico felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He looked over to Will, shrugging in his silent communication of prompting his partner to ask any other questions he had on his mind.

"You and Silena lived here alone? No maids or anything?" Will asked. "No one who could've seen what happened or be a possible eye witness?"

"No."

Nico and Will looked at each other. Will shrugged and started to stand, extending a hand to the grieving father. "Thank you, Mr. Beauregard. We'll be in touch if we need anything else. You've been a great help."

Mr. Beauregard shook Will's hand and stood up himself, probably eager to see them off. He accepted Will's business card and placed it in his pocket. "I'll walk you to the door, agents. Drive safely."

"Oh, before we go, one last question," Nico blurted out, suddenly remembering. "What is the name of your daughter's doctor?"

"Her doctor?" Mr. Beauregard seemed confused.

"Yes, her doctor," Nico elaborated. "We suspect that the murderer is someone with decent if not extensive knowledge on the anatomy of the human brain, and we would like to be as thorough as possible with this investigation."

"I don't have his information on me, but I do remember his name if that's good enough. I haven't heard from him since Silena's last appointment four months ago."

"That would be perfect, thank you." Will drew a ballpoint pen and a small leather-bound notebook out of his jacket's pocket and flipped it open, ready to take down the name. Nico leaned over to look over his partner's shoulder.

"Jason Grace."

. . .

"Start at square one, he said. We will discover more leads, he said." Will's warm breath came out in little clouds of water vapor against the chilly October air as he spoke. He rubbed his two hands together in an effort to stay warm.

"Hey, it was worth a shot," Nico huffed in reply, walking briskly towards the warmth of his car.

They had just paid a visit to the fifth and latest victim's apartment, Frank Zhang's. His landlord and his neighbor had answered their questions, and, as Nico expected, they were the same as all the rest. No known enemies, no changes in behavior, not a single mention of anyone new in their life. Whoever this killer was, he was meticulous, leaving no leads for anyone to trace back to him.

"That was three hours of my life I will never get back. You do realize that all of the victims' families said the exact same thing. They had no known enemies, they were all good people, they were good at whatever they did, they were happy. Nico, these are just ordinary people. There is absolutely no connection between them." Will brought his jacket closer to his body and stuffed his chilly hands into his pockets. "I feel like the killer's leading us on a goose chase."

"So do I," Nico admitted. "Though the three hours of your time isn't one of my concerns right now. Haven't you heard of no such thing as a coincidence? Actually, before you answer that, can you even _be_ a neurosurgeon and a pediatrician at the same time?"

Will shrugged. "It's not unheard of. There are pediatric neurosurgeons who could probably pull off both jobs."

Nico fumbled with his car keys, unlocking the doors to his old and overused black Toyota with stiff fingers. "What are the chances that our first victim's doctor was murdered two weeks after her death?"

"Not very probable," Will agreed, getting into the passenger's side. He continued to rub his hands.

"It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What's the connection here? Why would the Harpy kill both of them?" Nico twisted around in his seat, glancing out the back window as he backed out of his parking space. "And put your seatbelt on."

Will obliged. "If it is the same person who killed Silena Beauregard and Jason Grace, they certainly made an effort to make it seem like two different killers."

"One took a cleaver knife out of Jason Grace's kitchen to behead him, the other used what we presume to be a sharpened metal rod to puncture someone's cerebellum and brainstem." Nico turned on the heating and made a left turn out of the apartment complex parking lot. "If it is the same person who killed both people, they did one hell of a job to hide the connection between the two cases."

"How can you even know that it _is_ the same killer then?"

Nico searched for the right words to answer his partner's question. "It's the feeling you get from these two cases, you know?"

Will stared at him blankly. "No, I don't know."

"Well, think about it this way," Nico explained, coming to a stop at a red light. He shifted slightly in his seat to face his partner. "When you look at Jason Grace's murder scene, you see a psychopath who is playing at _theater,_ not murder. The way Jason Grace's body was discovered was a work of art, or at least his version of art. I get the same feeling when I look at pictures of the five Harpy victims."

"How so?" asked Will.

"Well, they were all propped up against something to make it look as if they were still alive, decorated and practically _gift-wrapped_ for the FBI. These people—these corpses—were put up and set up where and how they were discovered because the killer wanted the world to see his work. Everything was his part of his plan, to leave no traceable leads yet to make it so obvious that these killings are part of his masterpiece, that they have his signature on them. In a way, when I look at this case, I feel as if the Harpy is _also_ playing at theater."

"He wants to be seen," Will finished for him, nodding in mutual understanding. "He wants to perform."

"Exactly," Nico agreed. "If anything, it makes him more dangerous. He's unpredictable and has no motive behind doing this except just out of his own enjoyment and will."

The red light turned green, and instinctively, Nico di Angelo pushed the gas pedal.


	4. 4

**Special thanks to those who read/reviewed. To the anonymous guest who asked me about review count: No, I won't be setting a minimum review par for releasing another chapter. I'm not a fan of "hosting a story as a review hostage" as they put it; I write because I want to tell this story, not because I want reviews (although they are greatly appreciated). Thank you for the kind words! TW: smoking.**

* * *

4.

The sun was setting as Nico di Angelo and his partner arrived back at the FBI field office. With Will in the passenger's side, Nico drove down to the basement garage where Will's car was parked.

"So here we are," Will began, unbuckling his seatbelt as Nico's car tipped downwards from the descending slope of the garage entrance. "No leads, no clues. You might as well just seek out every doctor or medical student and all of their affiliates in this city and start interviewing them."

"I still don't understand the connection though," Nico replied. He stopped next to Will's cream-colored Ford and took a bottle of aspirin out of his car's cupholder. "What does the Jason Grace have to do with the Harpy?"

"Maybe after his patient died, he found out about something he wasn't supposed to," Will theorized, making a face of uncertainty. "Maybe the killer wanted him dead because he knew too much?"

Nico tipped two miniature white pills into the palm of his hand and downed the aspirin without any water. He wiped his mouth. "How many doctors do you know actually _keep up_ with their patients?"

"Not many, admittedly." Will shrugged, starting to get out of the car. "I don't know. Maybe Jason Grace had some other sort of connection with the killer, and the killer wanted to stop him from digging any further. Just as a preventative measure, so to speak."

"That makes sense, except it doesn't make _enough_ sense." With a frustrated sigh, Nico sat back in his chair, tilting his head back in the hopes of driving the migraine away. "I feel like everywhere I look, there is some sort of a missing link. These things _almost_ fit together, just not quite. It's like I'm looking for the most crucial puzzle piece that unlocks where everything else fits."

"I agree," Will sighed, slamming the car door shut. He began to walk away. "We've hit a dead end. Either way, working hours are over, so I'm out. Maybe we can think of an explanation tomorrow after a good night's sleep."

Nico muttered an incomprehensible sigh of agreement under his breath. "See you tomorrow then."

The aspirin bottle fell back into the cup holder.

. . .

"You're late."

With a kick, Nico di Angelo discarded his shoes to the side of his apartment door. "I was working late," he called to the voice in the kitchen. "It's not my fault."

"Your dinner's getting cold, little brother." Bianca di Angelo emerged from the kitchen, her long ebony hair in a braid and barefoot, work clothes discarded for a casual t-shirt and shorts. She was two years older than Nico yet two inches lacking in height, but she made up for it in how she cared had for him ever since they were orphaned. When Nico walked past her on his way to the kitchen, she ruffled his hair. "You seem down today. Is work getting to you or something?"

With a sigh, Nico sank down in his chair, placing his hands on the dining room table. The apartment they shared wasn't small, but it was dull and plain. In the living room and sort-of dining room, there were two couches, a table for dinner and breakfast, two folding chairs, one unused TV, and a desktop computer in the corner. A small hallway extended to two bedrooms, a shared walk-in closet, and one bathroom with a semi-functional ventilation system. The walls were all painted in the same dull color of white, the carpet the same dull tone of cream. A small ash tray rested on top of the dining room table's wooden surface.

If it had been only him using the apartment, the place would be a huge mess. However, Bianca insisted that he kept everything clean and tidy.

 _One day,_ Nico told himself. _One day we will get a house._

"You look gloomy," Bianca noted, pushing a plate of what Nico presumed to be microwaved macaroni and cheese towards him. "Gloomier than usual, I mean. You always look gloomy."

"Thanks." Nico accepted the plastic fork Bianca handed him and began eating. After a few mouthfuls, he explained. "It's just this case. I can't make head or tails of this one."

"What about Will Solace?" Bianca asked. "How is he?"

Nico stared at the crescent moon tattoo on the left side of his sister's neck, the only tattoo she said she would ever get. He hesitated before answering. "I don't think he knows where to start with this one either. We've been chasing our tails for the whole day."

"I meant are you happy when you're with him?"

Nico didn't reply, keeping his eyes on the macaroni and cheese.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

"Bianca..."

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "Look, you don't have to say anything," she told him gently. "You think I don't know what's going on in my little brother's life? I just care about whether or not you're happy, and if Will Solace makes you happy, I'm not going to poke my nose in it. I work at a bank, for heaven's sake; I know how to add two and two together, Nico. I know what he means to you."

"Thank you," Nico told her gratefully.

"But what about this case, huh?" Bianca kept rambling, probably to gloss over the uncomfortable moment for Nico. She picked a piece of pasta off the side of his plate and popped it into her mouth. "After all these years, this is the one you're stuck on?"

"You say 'after all these years' to me, but it's only been one year," Nico reminded her.

Bianca waved her hand dismissively. "One year, two years, ten years, it doesn't matter. Everyone eventually runs into a case that they just can't solve no matter how hard they try."

"That's encouraging."

"For what it's worth though," Bianca continued, ignoring his remark. "I've been with you for years, and if there's one thing I've learned from looking after you, it's that you're smarter than what everyone thinks. You're smarter than you think, actually, and you tend to underestimate yourself. You'll figure it out eventually."

Nico made an ambiguous sound and stood up, taking his empty plate to the sink. "I sure hope I figure it out. I just don't know where to look in all of this."

Bianca drew a box of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her shorts, holding one end up to the fire. Nico accepted one from his sister and pulled the ash tray towards himself. "It's a real shame they don't allow smoking at work," she told him.

Thin whiskers of smoke rose to the ceiling and filled the space around the two siblings as they sat in heavy silence, each deep in thought. Out of the corner of his eyes, Nico noticed that the stars were already lighting up the sky like Christmas lights on a tree. The days were getting shorter.

"You remember that movie we saw when we were kids?" Bianca asked after a while. "Willy Wonka? Charles and the Chocolate Factory?"

"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," Nico corrected. He cracked a smile, watching the smoke of his cigarette drift in casual wisps of gray towards the ceiling. "You were obsessed with it."

Bianca smiled, lost in memories. "God, I loved that movie; it's probably still my favorite one. But I was thinking—maybe your case is kind of like that movie?"

"How so?"

"Well, there were thousands and thousands of chocolate bars all around the world, right? But only a few of them had the golden tickets in them. Maybe you've just gotta keep looking until you've found the right chocolate bar with the golden ticket inside, the one clue you need. You need to look deeper and see past all the things that might appear to be the same to you when you first looked at them, that's all." She shrugged.

Nico leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. He put out the cigarette after inhaling the last of it, rubbing the stub against the bottom of the glass ash tray. Twin columns of smoke erupted from his nostrils as he exhaled.

"Maybe," he said to himself. "Maybe."


	5. 5

**Thank you all for reading, especially to those who gave me feedback. I have added trigger warnings to the beginning of every chapter along with a list for the entire story in chapter one. If anyone wants me to put any specific trigger warnings before every chapter, please don't hesitate to ask me. TW: graphic violence.**

* * *

5.

Will slid a cup of hot coffee across the desk to Nico, who eagerly used the beverage as an excuse to look up from everything on his desk. He had been staring at the scattered array of files and pictures in front of him, wishing silently that he could set each nonsensible scrap of paper on fire.

"Any luck?" his partner asked, sitting down in the chair opposite of Nico's.

"None," Nico replied, popping the top covering of his cup off to smell the sweet aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. "I haven't found any connections. I actually talked to Bianca about it yesterday, and I've been thinking about what she said."

"Your sister's pretty damn smart from what I've heard," Will told his partner with a nod. "Could be useful to get her third eye on this."

"More like eighth or ninth eye," Nico snorted. "Have you found out who else is assigned to this case? Why aren't we working together?"

"Reyna and topside wants us to look at this case individually first, then get our heads together _after_." Will sighed, taking a long gulp of his coffee. "That's what she told me when I asked her about it, anyways. I hope your sister had more insight to offer on this than she did."

Nico stared into the light brown contents of his coffee cup. "She said we might be looking at the right stuff, but there is something obscure in here that will lead us to the killer—a golden ticket, as she put it. I've been trying to think of different angles to look at this from, but I've had no luck."

"Ditto. I've been starting to think that, for once, there really is no real pattern."

The FBI agent stopped mid-gulp, almost choking on the hot liquid. For a second, Nico felt as if a fog had been lifted from before his eyes. Coughing, he spluttered, "What did you say?"

"I've been starting to think that, for once, there really is no real pattern," Will repeated. He looked at his partner. "Are you okay? You're coughing like you just swallowed a hairball, not a coffee."

"I'm fine," Nico coughed. "It just went down the wrong pipe."

Still coughing, Nico gathered the informational report for every one of the five victims, scanning them quickly in a flurry of papers. It must've been the combination of Bianca and Will's thoughts that lead him to the conclusion. "Will, you are a genius."

"What did I say?" Will asked, bewildered.

Excitement bubbled to the top of Nico's throat. For a second, he was afraid to believe it. "Will, the connection is that there _is_ no connection. These victims were chosen at random, and they were done so because the killer wanted to _hide_ something. He wanted to hide the connection."

"How would he hide a connection if there wasn't one to begin with, as you said?" Will shook his head. "Nico, you're not making any sense."

"I am making sense!" Nico exclaimed in the rare rush of revelation's excitement. He took a deep breath and explained it again, more coherently than his first attempt. "None of these victims had any connection to the others, and this was done for a purpose on the killer's part in his attempts to throw us off. I was thinking about what Bianca said, and I figured it out; each one of these victims is a chocolate bar, so to speak, but only one of them has the golden ticket. Only one of them is someone he really _wants_ to kill.

"Everyone else are just extras on the stage. By making this case appear as a series of murders instead of just one, he disguises the victim he is truly after and his motivations. And when he does that, it makes things harder for us because we cannot find a motive or a connection, which is how we've been stuck chasing our tails the whole time. We focused so much on the connection when we should've been focusing on the lack of one."

It took his partner a while to respond to Nico's wild train of thoughts. For the longest time, Will looked at him with an expression of almost-disbelief. Then, he shook his head, his expression turning to a wide smile. "You are impressive," he admitted, continuing to shake his head. His partner raised his coffee cup in a toast. "Impressive and weird but still impressive. Eureka."

"Eureka," Nico echoed, raising his own cup.

. . .

The sky outside had been weeping, shaking huge droplets of rain down onto the soil and casting the world in one long shadow. Mats of wet leaves choked the empty parking lot asphalt of an isolated gas station, one of those little stops in the middle of the countryside or in the middle of the highway no one ever bothered to look twice at.

If Nico had to pick somewhere to murder someone or somewhere to dump a body, he would've chosen this spot, a remote location in the middle of the countryside. There were virtually no watching eyes, no cameras, and thick rows of trees to hide behind on three sides. It was just a two-lane road, a gas station, and a small wooden building of a bathroom—the perfect shelter from prying eyes.

The corpse before Nico di Angelo's eyes was in a gruesome state. A girl with jet-black hair stared blankly at the blanket of gray overhead with her empty blue eyes, milky and glazed-over. Her mouth was slightly open, a trickle of crimson dribbling down her chin and gathering on the asphalt beneath her light brown jacket with the rest of her blood. Nico badly wanted to reach down and close her eyes, to avoid her blank gaze as he observed, but he knew he couldn't interfere with the forensics unit and their work after they bustled around her, placing yellow numbered placards to mark down evidence.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nico saw Reyna's car pull up to the crime scene. Calmly, she approached the dead body, lifting the yellow crime scene tape between two gas pumps to let herself through. Her black heels clicked on the asphalt.

"What was her name?" Nico asked as his superior approached, twisting around to look at her.

"Forensics are identifying that right now," she told him, nodding towards the unit, now busily huddled around a satellite computer. She sighed, her breath rising in a cloud of water vapor. "They should get results pretty soon. It's not that hard to find a DNA match when it's everywhere."

Nico looked at the pool of blood gathered around the Harpy's newest victim, a puddle of red that stretched in all directions from the back of the victim's head. He could see his own reflection in the liquid surface, displayed in dull scarlet monochrome. Grimacing, Nico took a step back.

"There's a lot more blood than any of the other crime scenes," Will observed. "I wonder what's different with this one."

As the words left Will's mouth, one of the forensics analysts came over, her hood drawn back to reveal a halo of red hair, dark enough in the dim light to match the blood. Kneeling, she carefully raised the victim's head under the watch of the three investigators. A sticky web of almost-dried blood tied the back of the victim's head to the asphalt ground, stretching tendrils that made a squelching noise when lifted. Underneath, Nico could see the blood was thicker from where it had poured out of her head, a spout of pure red.

Undaunted by the gruesome sight, the forensics analyst poked a gloved finger into the back of the victim's head, her other hand supporting the skull. Though it was faint, Nico could hear the squelch as her forefinger navigated the contents of the brain. He winced.

"Shouldn't you...do that with a pair of tweezers or something?" he asked uncertainly.

She shrugged, her frizzy mop of red hair bouncing as she did. "It's quicker to see where the weapon went this way," she replied, looking at Nico with a pair of round eyes the color of summer grass and a wide grin. "We're going to open up the cranium for a closer look anyways, don't look so grossed out."

The redhead turned her attention back to her subject. As she did, Nico tilted his head to read her name, stitched in yellow against her black body suit. _Rachel E. Dare_.

"Why is there so much more blood than the other scenes?" Will asked her.

Rachel made a shushing noise at him, which Will seemed to be taken aback by. Instead of answering his question, she made a strained face as she angled her arm for better probing of the victim's skull, biting her lower lip. "Huh," she managed after a couple seconds, drawing her blood-coated finger out of the skull and lowering the victim's head back to the ground.

"What is it?" Reyna asked, stepping closer to the body.

"This time, the killer didn't cut through the cerebellum and the brainstem, not from what I can tell," Rachel replied, ripping her light blue latex gloves off and tossing them to the side. She ran a freckled hand through her hair. "It pierced the cerebrum instead, which bled more heavily. That's probably why there's so much more blood here than in the other crime scenes."

Nico perked up at the mention of this. He directed his attention to Rachel. "You looked at the other victims, too?" he asked.

"Yup, I filed the forensics reports that you hate looking at." She grinned again, looking almost too happy for someone who just stuck their finger in a corpse's brain. "I did the autopsies for the most part. None of you guys even know what hemorrhage is anymore."

"And the other victims? The Harpy was on target with them, right? He never missed what he was aiming for or anything?"

"Nope, and I don't know why he didn't find his target this time." She drew her frizzy red hair around to the back of her neck and tied it in a messy bun at the top of her head. "You guys are the ones in charge of psychoanalyzing the crazy, not me. Now if you'll excuse me, agents, I must get back to the rest of my unit."

Nico watched her go, her black suit crinkling as she walked.

"Do you think this is his golden ticket?" Will asked, his eyes never leaving the corpse.

Ripping his eyes away from the gruesome crime scene, Nico turned around and began walking in the other direction. He had seen enough of the Harpy to know the answer the Will's question.

"Yes."


	6. 6

**In response to the anon who mentioned the trigger warnings, you are most welcome! I have decided that I will be writing for July NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I contemplated writing this story for it, but I doubt it will reach the 50,000 word count mark (and writing ahead of time is cheating), so I decided on writing original fiction instead. Therefore, updates will come a lot slower for the month of July. Sorry.** **TW: none.**

* * *

6.

Nico was glad he wore a pair of black boots instead of his usual leather work shoes to the crime scene. He felt the mud grapple with their invisible hooks under his feet as he walked, sticking to the rubber soles of his boots. Every time he took a step, the mud yielded a squelching noise as his shoe came free.

He was walking around the perimeter of the gas station, treading through the soggy bundles of fallen autumn leaves cluttering the ground and peering through the dense wall of trees for any signs of clues or evidence left behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more cars pulling up to the crime scene and agents stepping out, people he presumed to be the others assigned to the case.

"What are you looking for?" Will asked, preferring to stay on the crumbling asphalt rather than trudge through the mud with his partner.

"Anything," Nico replied, lifting a low-hanging branch out of his vision in order to get a better view of the depths of the thicket of trees. "Anything the killer might have left."

"He hasn't left anything so far; why should he start now?"

Seeing nothing as he circled around the thick trunk of a spruce, Nico returned to the asphalt where his partner waited with a sigh. "I don't think this is the Harpy," he confessed. "It _looks_ like him, but it doesn't _feel_ like him."

"How so?" Will asked, starting back towards the center of the gas station where everyone was gathered around the body. "It looks exactly like the Harpy's work."

Nico followed him. "It doesn't feel like the Harpy. Look at it; in every other case, the Harpy has been playing at theater, propping his victims up to make it seem as if they were sitting. Every kill went directly through the cerebellum and the brainstem with almost surgical precision. To me, the Harpy seems to be a perfectionist. _This_ wasn't a show put up by a perfectionist; it was a sloppy imitation of his work."

Will bit his lip as they stopped a little distance away from the working forensics unit. "So you're saying there's a copycat killer who's trying to imitate the real Harpy's murders?"

"It's a very real possibility." Nico shrugged. "If we can find the copycat killer, I think we can find the real one as well."

"What makes you say that?"

"I mean, I'm trying to think from the Harpy's point of view." Nico ran a hand through his hair. "He's a perfectionist, and he goes out there and murders people just to up a show. When I looked at the crime scene photos, I saw that he was almost _proud_ of what he did, that he took the time to make five practically gift-wrapped crime scenes for us. Now, imagine that another killer is claiming credit for your work and your piece of art. If I were in his shoes, I would be mad enough to come after the copycat killer and reclaim what is mine."

"So you're saying this would be like plagiarism to the Harpy?" Will asked as they watched the forensics unit work.

"Exactly."

Nico observed the other agents, presumably the others assigned to the Harpy case. There was a woman with a muscular build and a rather out of place red bandana tied around her shoulder-length brown hair. Standing next to her was a man with silvery blonde hair, a pale complexion, a pointed nose to match his equally pointy chin. He, too, was examining the body. Nico presumed they were partners.

"Are you two part of the Harpy investigation?" asked a voice to Nico's left. He tore his gaze away from the other agents to see yet another one, a Hispanic man with hair the color of blackened coals and the same shade of eyes. He wore a faded gray jacket over his suit.

"Yes," Nico replied, extending a hand. He always had trouble with introductions. Actually, he had trouble with interacting with people in general. "I'm Nico di Angelo, pleased to meet you."

"Leo Valdez, solo investigator," he replied, shaking his hand while keeping the other one tucked inside his jacket pocket. He extended it to Will as well. "I see that you guys have been roped into this investigation."

"Will Solace," Will introduced, shaking Leo Valdez's hand. "This case is really taking a lot of agents to crack, huh?"

"Feels like a damn stab to the brain," Leo replied, chuckling at his own joke.

Despite the morbid context of Leo's joke, Will laughed. Nico, too, was slightly amused by it. "Have you found anything that wasn't written in the reports already?" he asked Leo.

"Nope, none at all." He took his other hand out of his jacket pocket and rubbed the two together, blowing on them to get rid of the autumn chill. "This case might just be the one where everyone hits a dead end on."

Will sucked in his breath and exhaled in a tired huff. "You know, I'm starting to think—"

He was interrupted by Rachel Dare of the forensics unit. From across the parking lot of the gas station, she shouted and waved towards the rest of her unit and the agents surrounding the corpse, her frizzy red hair bouncing up and down. "I think I've got something!" she shouted.

"Didn't you already check over there?" Will asked Nico as they jogged towards the enthusiastic redhead.

"I don't know," Nico replied. "I wasn't checking under every bush or behind every trunk. She probably found something I didn't."

They came to a stop in front of Rachel E. Dare, who was already a few feet into the dense thicket of trees by the time they reached the edge of the asphalt. She grinned triumphantly, bending down to retrieve something from the mats of wet leaves and the mud. "I thought I saw something glitter over here," she told them, making her way back to the asphalt with the evidence in her hands. "Turns out, I was right."

Upon closer inspection, the evidence Rachel held in her hands was a metal rod, no thicker in diameter than Nico's forefinger. One end had been sharpened into a point, as if it had been driven through a pencil sharpener. To nobody's surprise, three inches of the sharpened end of the metal rod was coated in a thick layer of a brown-red substance, dried and brittle. No one questioned what the substance was; they already knew the answer to their question.

"Could this be the murder weapon?" Reyna asked.

"Oh yeah," Rachel replied, nodding vigorously. "Definitely. Our skulls aren't that sturdy. A stab to the back of our skulls with this should do the job without any problem."

Leo whistled. "That's an unusual weapon for a serial killer."

Ignoring his comment, Rachel stepped back onto the asphalt and started back towards the forensics unit's satellite computer. Nico couldn't help but notice she seemed to walk with a new spring in her step as he and the others followed her back. "Give me a few seconds to analyze this back at the field office, and I can give you the name of the company who produced this metal rod in no time."

 _These people seem so enthusiastic and nonchalant about these murders,_ he thought to himself. _It's almost unnatural._

She bent down in front of a computer, her hair obscuring most of her face from view. The metal rod was passed from her hand and into an evidence bag. The forensics analyst cursed, annoyed with the fact that one end did not fit completely.

After handing the somewhat bagged evidence off to someone else in her unit, Rachel turned her attention back to the computer. Looking over her shoulder, Nico could see the program was still running the DNA identification test. "Even with a satellite computer out here, the signal is shit," she cursed. "We'll get a match soon enough."

Just as the words came out of her mouth, the monitor came to a halt, the complex software's algorithm finally receiving a correct match as it completed its job.

"Haha!" Rachel exclaimed, pleased with the software and herself. "Bingo, we've got a match."

Still looking over her shoulder, Nico saw the picture of of the victim, smiling and still alive against a white background. As his eyes travelled to the name right of the picture on the computer monitor, he felt his blood run cold. Written in white letters against the green-blue background of the software, the bolded name was as clear as day.

"Yep, that's the victim." Rachel E. Dare nodded. "Thalia Grace."


	7. 7

**Thanks for those who read and/or reviewed. For anyone who cares, I turned fifteen on June 27th! I forgot to mention it in the previous update. :) TW: none.**

* * *

7.

Back at the field office, the bearer of bad news herself sat the five agents assigned to the Harpy case down at a conference room table. Looking closely at the table they were seated around, Nico saw it was simply a ping-pong table that had been painted over in black. If he squinted his eyes a little, he could see the white lines peeking out from under the black veneer. He guessed that the actual conference room was in use at the moment by trainees, seeing that they were seated in a rather small and windowless room.

Reyna's heels clicked on the floor as she tapped her feet impatiently, occasionally biting her lip with a deep frown on her face. "We're waiting for the metal analysis to come back," she told the group to break the silence.

Nico shifted in his seat. Will occupied the seat to his left, a reassuring presence. He wasn't claustrophobic, but he being in close quarters with three people he wasn't familiar with made him slightly nervous and jittery.

"Before the analysis gets back," Reyna began again in an authoritative voice, "does anyone here have anything worth sharing that you discovered in your investigation?"

"We do," Will said, raising a finger. When Reyna raised an eyebrow, he gestured at Nico, who silently cursed his partner for putting him under the spotlight.

"We believe we have found the connection between the five—sorry, _six_ —victims." Nico sighed, licking his lips before continuing. "We believe the connection is that there _is_ no connection."

The agent with the pale complexion and blonde hair snorted. "There is never just _no connection_ between any victims," he told Nico with a patronizing sneer.

Anger flashed through him, and underneath the table, Nico's hands clenched into fists. Even though he had been working for a only a year, Nico knew what type of investigator the blonde was, the type to frown down and patronize anything he deemed below him, which probably included everyone in the room with the exception of Reyna. You could find the high school version of him in a playground bully just about anywhere.

Thankfully, Reyna spoke before Nico could come up with a proper retort. "Octavian," she snapped. "Listen to what he has to say."

Nico made a mental note to avoid the unpleasant agent. Giving a nod of thanks towards his superior, he continued. "The Harpy is selecting people at random because he wants to hide his motivations, and by doing so, he throws us off. Every single victim can be considered a chocolate bar, but only one of them is the golden ticket, the one he _wants_ to kill. When he hides the golden ticket among others, we cannot see his true motive and end up chasing our tails trying to find a connection where there isn't one."

"And who do you think is the golden ticket?" Reyna asked.

"I believe he has his golden ticket already," Nico declared, ignoring the look on Octavian's face. "I believe Thalia Grace is the golden ticket, but it wasn't the Harpy that killed her."

"What makes you say that?" Reyna frowned. "From what the crime scene, it looked exactly like the Harpy's work."

"I know," Nico admitted. "However, I still think the Harpy is operating via a proxy. He's never missed the cerebellum and the brainstem before, and he's always had a taste for putting on a show, for placing the victims in a sitting position. This doesn't look like him. Operating via a proxy shows two things—that he had some sort of special interest in the victim and that he is attempting to hide his intentions even further."

"So you're saying the proxy is the red herring," Reyna concluded, fingers tapping on the edge of the table.

Nico nodded. "Yes."

"That is an interesting theory," she told him. "Makes more sense than what the rest of this lot has to offer."

A childish part of Nico felt a surge of glee as he saw the look on Octavian's face, as if lemons had been grated over his teeth.

. . .

"So this is where the murder weapon came from?" Nico asked.

The metal yard that Rachel E. Dare had pointed them to was a shabby yet organized looking place, small in size. Storing warehouses painted in peeling coats of red with black triangular roofs lined the property in a crescent shape, keeping the metal out of the rain for fear of rust and decay. A delivery truck was parked next to one of the warehouses, waiting to be loaded and ready to transport the raw materials. On the side opposite of the crescent, smoke in varying shades of gray poured out of a factory building, a long and rectangular structure with five tower-like chimneys rising out of the top. Underneath his feet, gravel cracked and shifted whenever Nico moved.

"Apparently, this is it," Will answered. He cupped his hands around his face and blew into them, trying to warm his cheeks.

The sun was setting in the horizon, dragging its heat down with it and splattering a palette of warm colors against the sky as if to create an ironic effect for the temperature. Nico shivered slightly in the chilly air.

"Looks shady," he commented.

He looked over to Leo Valdez, who still had his hands in his pockets.

Nico had realized halfway through their little group meeting around a ping-pong table that the cheerful agent had been fiddling with a gum wrapper underneath the table the entire time while never taking his eyes off of the person speaking. When he asked about the miniature paper crane Leo produced from the wrapper of a Juicy Fruit, he shrugged and said it helped him concentrate.

No doubt he was making another piece of origami inside his pockets as they stood outside the factory, waiting for the manager to come out.

"How does one trace metal back to where it was produced?" Nico asked, curious about Rachel's skills of forensics.

Before Will could answer, however, Reyna motioned the five agents to come forward as the metal side door of the factory opened, shrieking on its hinges. A petite woman with dark brown skin stepped out, traces of gold highlights in her frizzy black hair with startling eyes to match the highlights. She ripped her goggles off and wiped her hands off on her overalls as she approached the six agents.

"Are you the manager?" Reyna asked her as she approached.

The woman's golden eyes travelled around the group, taking in all the agents. She swallowed. "Yeah, I am," she answered in a rather small and shy voice, licking her lips. "Hazel Levesque."

"Would you mind if we asked you some questions, Miss Levesque?"

She seemed nervous, but Nico guessed it wasn't every day six FBI agents showed up at her factory's door asking questions. "Go ahead," she replied, nodding and fidgeting with her faded blue overalls.

"A body was found today at a gas station, near Mt. Airy Forest slightly off of South 27," Reyna explained. "We discovered the murder weapon, a sharpened metal rod that came from your company. Would you know anything about it?"

The manager accepted a picture of the metal rod from Reyna. She nodded, looking uncertain and no less nervous. "That's one of our rods, but we don't sharpen them. We just ship them out to companies who do."

"Would you know anyone who could've done this?"

Hazel Levesque seemed taken aback and grew only more nervous. "I don't know who would do something like this; I keep my nose out of trouble, and that's what I tell all my employees."

"Of course," Reyna assured her. "May we take a look at the records of your employees nonetheless?"

Quickly checking a metallic watch wrapped around her left wrist, Hazel Levesque gave a small nod, gesturing for the agents to follow her. "We will close in about an hour, just to warn you."

Walking in a single file line, the six agents followed the woman into the interior of the factory. Nico wrinkled his nose, smelling the overwhelming scent of burning metal; the screeching and banging of tools offered no help to his headaches. Thankfully, the manager lead them down a short short hall with plain walls and concrete floors and into what looked like a records office, decorated in the same dull fashion as the hall. Behind the heavy wooden door, the din of the factory softened, a merciful comfort to Nico's ears and head.

"They're all in that cabinet, the employee records," Hazel told them, pointing at two filing cabinets in the corner.

Reyna jerked her head towards the cabinet. "Get to work," she told them before turning her attention back to the manager. "Can you think of anyone under your employment that has been acting suspiciously in the recent weeks?"

Nico opened the bottom drawer of the second cabinet, positioning himself as to not get in Will's way, who was examining the drawer above him. He kept listening to Reyna's interrogation.

"No," Hazel Levesque replied. "Like I said, I tell everyone to keep their noses out of trouble."

"What about unusual behavior?" Reyna asked. "Or family tragedies? Anything that could provoke them to murder?"

Thumbing through the files in the cabinet, Nico realized the papers he was examining were files on the people who recently quit their job. Curiosity tickled at his newfound interest. He pulled out a couple of the files, glancing at the names and personal information. Slowly, Nico traced his thumb down the sheet of paper he was examining, reading. Most of the time, catching the needle in the haystack was just dumb luck.

"What about the employees who recently resigned their job?" he asked Hazel gently. "Anyone who recently quit?"

Hazel licked her lips nervously. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't pry into anyone's life here. I just enjoy working with these metals."

Nico nodded, giving her a small smile. He returned to sorting through the files, crouching down. The agents lapsed into silence as they worked, Reyna joining their effort. Looking skittish and still nervous, Hazel Levesque stood in a corner and fiddled with a strand of her halo-like hair.

Eventually, a file caught Nico's attention. "What about this guy?" he asked Hazel. "Ethan Nakamura."

She walked over slowly, keeping one hand on her arm as she bent over to see the file Nico was holding. "Yeah, I knew him," she said. "He was a quiet worker, but he was nice."

"He left a phone number but not an address," he told Hazel, pointing at the file. There was no address in the space where there should've been.

"We don't require our employees to put an address, just a phone number," Hazel explained. She licked her lips again. "We hand out informational letters here at work instead of mailing them. It's only when they're sick or something do we mail things home, so we recommend putting an address down anyways."

Nico met Will's gaze. His partner shrugged, as if to say _follow your instinct._

"Was there anything unusual about Ethan Nakamura before he left his job?" he asked Hazel.

She seemed uncertain and held her hands up in defense. "Look, I don't tend to get involved in my employee's personal lives, but if it means anything to you, Ethan was seeing a doctor before he left."

"A doctor?" Reyna asked, looking up from her drawer of papers. "What kind of doctor?"

"I don't know. Like I said, he was a nice guy. I don't think he would murder anyone, not without having a good reason." Hazel froze seemed flushed as she realized what she said. She cleared her throat and began again. "I don't know much, but I heard him talking about his doctor once—a psychologist, I think was. Someone named Annabeth Chase."

Nico looked at Will again, who bit his lip and pushed the filing cabinet drawer shut.


	8. 8

**July NaNoWriMo has gotten the better of my time, I'm afraid. This is poorly-written and edited due to the lack of time, so I apologize in advance. Thank you all for reading. TW: guns, blood.**

* * *

8.

The sun had sunk below the horizon when Nico di Angelo and his group left the metal yard, the gravel crunching under their shoes. The temperature dipped even more with the sun, and not even Nico's aviator jacket could keep the cold at bay.

"I've texted Rachel," Reyna told the group, putting her phone back into her pocket as they approached their cars parked outside of the property. In the chilly air, her breath rose in their own miniature clouds as she spoke. "If luck is on our side, she still hasn't left the field office and can get us the last known address of this Ethan Nakamura in a few minutes."

Nico was surprised. He had expected the visit to Ethan Nakamura's home to fall to tomorrow.

"We're going there _now?_ " he asked his superior.

"Yes," she replied curtly. "I understand it's late, but topside has been breathing down my back to get this case done as soon as possible."

The look on Nico's face must've shown his disappointment and all of the unsaid complaints running through his head because Reyna took one look at him and added, "There's always the off chance that an accomplice working in that metal yard saw us coming and alerted Ethan Nakamura already. It that were to happen, he would be long gone by tomorrow. We can't take that risk."

Glancing around, Nico saw the grudging compliance on the others' faces. Octavian's partner—Clarisse La Rue, if he remembered correctly—adjusted her bandana and crossed her arms, sighing. He felt a pang of sympathy for her, having to work with an unpleasant partner.

The buzzing of a phone's vibration brought Nico's attention back to Reyna, who drew her phone out of her pocket to check the message. Even before she said anything, Nico knew it was from Rachel.

"Let's go," she told the group, turning the phone around to show them the address.

In the dark, the bright light of the iPhone's monitor illuminated the grim look on Reyna's face.

. . .

Will pulled his cream-colored Ford into an empty parking space in the apartment block, right behind Reyna's car. Nico had shoved the keys to the car back at his partner when offered to drive; he was too sleep-deprived to do anything. Besides, he was going to take the car ride as an opportunity to nap in the passenger's seat.

As Will killed the engine, he shook his snoozing partner awake. "We're here," he announced.

Nico yawned, blinking his eyes as he came out of his light nap. He stretched and shook the drowsiness from his head, rubbing his face. "Is this where Ethan Nakamura lives?" he asked.

"No, I just drove you to a random apartment," Will replied sarcastically. "Ethan Nakamura's last known address is on the fourth floor."

Nico heard car doors slamming as Reyna and the others got out of their cars. Suddenly, he felt reluctant to leave the satisfying warmth of the heated interior of Will's car.

Nevertheless, he buttoned his jacket and stepped out into the cold night air. Will followed.

The apartment itself was a large block of light brown bricks, shaped like an "I" from the bird's eye view. Ivy snaked its way up the sides of the walls, trailing tendrils of green. Even in the dark, Nico could see an unkempt lawn, split down in the middle by a sidewalk which lead into the building. There were no balconies, but windows lined the building's surface at regular intervals. At this hour, most of the lights were still on.

As he walked, his shoes silent against the asphalt ground, Nico gazed at the fourth story windows, trying to figure out which one was Ethan Nakamura's. "What would make someone want to imitate the Harpy?" he wondered out loud.

"Who knows?" Will replied, huffing. "It wouldn't be the first time a serial killer had a fanbase."

They reached the apartment building's entrance, and Will held the door open for Nico, who muttered a word of thanks, slightly surprised that the apartment did not require an identification card to enter. Inside, the six agents stood in a circle, waiting for the elevator.

The dimly-lit interior of the apartment was no less appealing and even more gloomy than the exterior. Two elevators occupied the wall opposite of the entrance while symmetrical halls extended in either direction from the back of the lobby. The walls were painted in a uniform shade of beige, some areas peeling with old age. Where there would normally be a couple couches for lounging in other apartments, this building only had two spindly and frail-looking wooden chairs in the center; the tiled floor underneath Nico's feet was in desperate need of a good mopping. As he glanced up, a precariously-hanging chandelier gazed back down at him, the metal rusting and the light bulbs burnt to a low flicker of light.

Nico heard the groaning elevator come to a stop with a ding. The doors creaked opened like the jaws of a predator, slowly and noisily. Together, the six agents piled in, crammed into the tiny space, and Reyna pushed the button to the fourth floor. Nico felt fidgety and almost claustrophobic.

An eternity later, the elevator doors creaked open again to reveal long and narrow hallway extending out from two directions, carpeted in maroon with the same beige walls and doors as the lobby below, and Reyna lead the way, turning to the left and checking the door numbers as she went.

"Do we know anything about this guy besides the fact that he works at a metal yard?" Leo asked.

"Rachel texted me some more details," Reyna told them, continuing to walk briskly down the hall. "He doesn't seem to have a criminal record, but he did get fired from a job at a restaurant once after he got into a fight with customer. Besides a short temper, there's not really much criminal material in him."

They came to a stop on the second to last door on the right. Reyna rapped four times with her knuckles on the door as the agents waited in anticipation.

"Yes?" came a voice from the other side.

"Ethan Nakamura?" Reyna asked, staring at the peephole.

"What do you want?" It sounded as if Ethan Nakamura had a stuffy nose.

"I'm with the FBI, may we come in to ask you a few questions?" Reyna held up her badge and identifications to the peephole, letting Ethan get a good look at her credentials and badge.

A long silence followed. As a matter of fact, Nico was ready to turn around and leave when Ethan Nakamura finally responded.

"Okay," he simply said.

Nico heard the sounds of him unlocking the door, which swung back a second later to reveal a wiry man in his late twenties with an unkempt beard and an leather eyepatch. His hair was a blackened disheveled mess, and his good eye was a shade of dark brown, darting around to examine his visitors.

"It takes six FBI agents to come question one man?" he asked, turning around with a grumble and walking towards the interior of his apartment, unkempt as the lawn outside and as messy as his hair. It almost reminded Nico of his own apartment, a simple room with a wooden dining table and a worn-out brown couch to the side.

"We would have been better prepared, but this couldn't wait," Reyna explained. "You live here on your own?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied. He pulled a tissue from a box of Kleenex on his living room table, blowing his nose and tossing the used napkin into an overflowing waste basket nearby. "Excuse me."

"And you used to work at a metal yard?" Reyna asked.

"Yeah. Don't work there anymore though."

Reyna continued without a pause. "A body was found today, a girl named Thalia Grace who was stabbed by a metal rod that came from the yard you used to work in."

Nico watched Ethan Nakamura's body language closely. He had stiffened and tensed as Thalia's name was mentioned but relaxed almost immediately; Nico couldn't tell if it was just pure coincidence or something more.

"I don't know anything about it," he replied curtly, turning his back on them as he gathered the contents of his waste basket up in the plastic trash bag they were placed in, tying the bag closed. He walked past the agents towards the door with the trash bag. As he walked past, Nico smelled the unmistakable scent of cigarettes, antihistamines, and something else he couldn't quite place his finger on.

Ethan Nakamura turned around after depositing the bag by the door. "Why are you investigating me?"

"You quit your job shortly after the serial killings we're investigating started," Reyna supplied. "And you left no address on your application form for your job. We just thought it would be good to ask you a few questions."

"Well, I don't have anything to do with these murders you're talking about," Ethan retorted.

"Of course." Reyna held her hands up defensively. "We aren't accusing you of anything, Mr. Nakamura. The FBI likes to be thorough."

She fell silent and turned to leave, but Nico felt his senses tingling. There was something out of place with the suspect. "Would you mind if I used the restroom before I leave?" he asked, ignoring the looks from the rest of his group.

Ethan Nakamura grunted, gesturing towards a miniature hallway which lead to the back of his apartment.

"Thank you."

Nico made his way down the hall. He spotted the bathroom and ducked inside, making sure he was out of sight. Across the hall from the bathroom was what Nico presumed to be Ethan Nakamura's bedroom, the door slightly ajar. He shut the bathroom door with a thump to convince Ethan he was inside before quietly pulling it back open, grateful that the door did not creak.

Back in living room, Nico could hear the others continuing to ask question and conversing, which he was thankful for as Ethan Nakamura's attention was distracted. Taking advantage of the man's diverted attention, he slipped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

The room was equally messy as the one outside. A bed was shoved up against one corner as scattered papers obscured a small work desk's surface from view. Eraser shavings, pencils, and many other unidentified things littered the floor.

Inside, Nico's breath quickened as he found what he was looking for. Two more sharpened metal rods leaned against each other in one corner. Tip-toeing, Nico stepped closer to examine them. The grooves on the metal and the texture of it felt the same as the one they had discovered at the crime scene.

 _This could easily be another murder weapon,_ he thought.

Seeing enough, Nico turned around to leave when something else caught his eye, a piece of paper amongst the many on Ethan Nakamura's desk. Placed on top of the many other pieces of paper, Nico assumed it was something Ethan had looked at recently.

Upon closer examination, Nico's eyes widened with horror. Quickly, he grabbed the unmistakable evidence penciled onto a sheet of loose leaf paper and hurried back to where the rest of his group was, storing the evidence in his jacket pocket.

As he walked past Ethan Nakamura to rejoin his group, Nico cleared his throat. "Mr. Nakamura," he began, stopping next to Will and turning around to face both the hallway he came from and Ethan. "Would you mind if I asked you one more question?"

Ethan nodded through a tissue, blowing his nose again.

Nico drew the sheet of paper out again and unfolded it, showing both his partners and Ethan Nakamura. "Would you please explain what this is?" he asked, showing them the pencil illustration of a sharpened metal rod being driven through an unknown person's face. It was a rough sketch, the portrait of faceless person with their head tilted back and angled slightly, but there was the unmistakable penciled lines of a long and thin weapon protruding from the back of the person's head.

Looking at the picture, Ethan froze. "You weren't in the bathroom back then, were you, agent?"

"No," Nico replied softly, holding the illustration out to Ethan.

"I can explain," the one-eyed man sighed, accepting the picture. As the hand-drawn sketch was exchanged, Nico smelled the overwhelming scent of cigarettes, cold medication, and something unknown yet familiar once again.

Ethan placed the paper behind the couch.

As he did, Nico's eyes widened as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and as he recognized the smell—gunpowder.

The glint of a black pistol handle followed Ethan's hand out from behind the couch, and before he knew it, Nico's two hands were wrapped around his own gun as well, stored in the inside pocket of his jacket. In a blink of an eye and in a rush of adrenaline too fast for Nico to think he could possibly be in control of his own body, the loaded gun barrel was pointed at Ethan's chest.

Almost in a dream-like state, Nico di Angelo watched an arch of crimson droplets splatter against the carpet as the ringing of a gunshot filled his ears.


	9. 9

**Thank you all for the kind words and for reading; I had a lot of trouble writing this one because it is literally Susan Cannot Write Romance Fluff For Shit Exhibit A. I promise the next chapter will be longer and plot-oriented. Note: I tried to find proper legal proceedings following suspects killed in the line of duty, but there was nothing I could find; apologies for my lack of knowledge on the law and any inaccuracies. TW: guns, blood.**

* * *

9.

Nico di Angelo shook.

He was already trembling when he pulled the trigger, but now, his entire body quaked as he stood in the small apartment. The ringing of a gunshot filled his ears, muffling everything else. He saw the other members of his group speaking or shouting, saw their mouths open and close but could not hear their words. Will's lips moved as he put a hand on Nico's shoulder, but it was nothing Nico could hear. All he could hear was the dull ringing of a gunshot— _his_ gunshot.

Slowly, he lowered his arms, his fingers still wrapped around his gun like blocks of wood frozen in the frigid temperatures outside.

The bullet which erupted from the barrel of his gun had found its target. Through the dream-like haze that filled Nico's mind, he suspected it was pure luck that his shot had found its intended mark; it punctured Ethan Nakamura's skull right in the middle of his forehead, and now he lay a few feet away Nico's shoes, bleeding and convulsing as his blood soaked the carpet, dying before Nico's eyes.

Nico gagged. Lucky for him, the sight of blood and gore never made him nauseous or else he would have thrown up by now. Still, it didn't stop him from feeling queasy and uncomfortably shocked.

It wasn't the first time he had to defend himself against someone while on a case, but in his year of work, he had never shot anyone, much less killed them. And he knew that Ethan Nakamura was beyond saving.

Even though he knew it was out of self defence, that didn't make it any better.

When the ringing of the gunshot cleared a few seconds that seemed like hours later, Nico was still shaking. His legs felt like jelly, and he had a feeling that he would have collapsed if he were not leaning against the wall. Slowly, he registered his current situation as the fog over his mind along with the ringing of the gunshot and the initial shock faded into the background.

The room hadn't erupted into a panic; they were trained not to do that. As Nico looked around, he saw Reyna calling someone on her phone—presumably calling the incident in—and Leo also talking on his phone as well. Octavian and Clarisse knelt down besides the body, hopelessly checking for a pulse. Clarisse shook her head as her fingers came away from the neck, smeared with red.

And at his feet, no matter how many times he closed his eyes and wished it away, a corpse of his own doing bled out into the carpet.

. . .

The next morning, Will found him in the gun range tucked into a corner of the field office's basement level.

The gun range itself wasn't awfully big, but it was spacious enough to accommodate at least six people in a row, shooting at targets lined against the opposite concrete wall, black life-sized boards with the silhouette of a human body outlined in white paint. The gray concrete surrounding the gun range on all six sides mixed with the dull fluorescent lighting created a greenish-gray mix of colors against the wall. Every row was three and a half feet in width with a safety bar in front of the shooter along with a mix of levers and buttons to manipulate the target.

Nico was the only one shooting so early in the morning, residing in the row farthest from the entrance when Will approached, red earmuffs adjusted over his head. In series of two and three, Nico di Angelo tore at the target on the opposite wall.

"It's not your fault, you know," he said when Nico stopped and pulled his earmuffs over his head, panting. Will took off his own pair of earmuffs.

"I never said it was my fault," Nico replied. He had been hoping to spend some time alone, but as always, his partner got the better of him. "I know I shot Ethan Nakamura in self defence."

"Explains why you're avoiding everyone," Will said. He gave Nico a small and sympathetic smile. "Explains why you're avoiding _me_ , most of all."

Damn. Why was he always such an open book? Reyna could always take one look at his face and tell him everything he was thinking, and Will was no different. Sure, even Nico thought shooting by himself at the basement level gun range was an obvious way to avoid the others, but Will always had such an easy time getting around his head.

"It's not my fault," Nico admitted. He pulled a lever, and in a groan of pulleys and mechanics, the target on the opposite wall swung forwards and began moving towards him. "But it does make me a killer."

"One suspect death in the line of duty doesn't make you a killer," his partner reassured softly. "It just means a lot of extra paperwork."

Nico smiled a little at that.

"Your first one is always hard."

The target came to a halt in front of Nico. He could see that the bullet marks on the target always veered towards the right. "You've had a suspect death on your hands while in the line of duty?" he asked Will, slightly surprised.

"Before I was your partner, di Angelo, I was still an investigator. Yeah, I had to pull the trigger on someone; multiple times, too." Will laughed bitterly. "That incident wasn't as clear-cut as yours, seeing that I put nine bullet holes into the man. What they didn't know was that the guy had pulled a gun on my partner pulled the trigger before I got there. A lot more paperwork had to go into that."

"I didn't know." Nico was genuinely surprised and even more sympathetic. He met Will's gaze and held it for a long time.

"It's over." Will looked away. "I don't like to think about it that much anymore, but you aren't alone in that guilt."

Nico gave a nod of understanding, turning his attention back onto the target and pulling the lever to send it back to the opposite wall, the grinding of machinery following it as it went. As the target came to an abrupt halt against the back wall, Nico adjusted his earmuffs over his head and got into position again, legs apart and two hands on the gun, still thinking about Will's words.

"You know," Will began. "You would shoot a lot better if you adjusted your stance."

He came behind Nico's back and adjusted his partner's stance, raising his arms a little bit higher and twisting his body around so that his torso was tilted a little towards the side. Almost without realizing it, Nico's breath quickened as Will straightened his back a little.

"You're so stiff," Will commented. Nico could hear the laughter in his voice. "Doesn't work well with the recoil. Try shooting now."

Will pulled his hands away, and Nico pulled the trigger three times. Even though the target was far away on the opposite side of the room, he could tell his shots were on center this time. He turned around and pulled off his earmuffs to face his partner, who was looking at him with a strange expression on his face.

"I sound like a high school kid for saying this, but can I kiss you?" Will asked, smiling.

"Figuratively or literally?" Nico's breathe and heartbeat simultaneously raced alongside each other. Butterflies danced in his stomach as he set the gun aside and gazed into Will's sky-blue eyes. Breathless and feeling like a hormonal teenager, he waited for an answer.

"Literally."


	10. 10

**I'm excited; this story is almost halfway done. Thank you all for reading/reviewing. Means a lot to me. TW: none.**

* * *

10.

 _"I think he's the Harpy."_

 _"Octavian, please explain the meaning of your accusations."_

 _Reyna Ramirez-Arellano sat down at her office desk and laced her fingers together, placing them on top of the polished wooden surface of her desk. Her mouth stretched into a tight line, and lines appeared over her forehead as she frowned. Anger flashed through her eyes, hard flints of stone embedded in her obsidian-colored eyes._

 _In the flourescent lighting of her office, Octavian's hair looked almost like silver, the hollows on his cheeks emphasized. Outside, a street lamp flickered as crickets chirped in the night._

 _They had just driven back to the office from Ethan Nakamura's apartment after Will Solace and his partner left with Will promising to get Nico di Angelo home in one piece after the ordeal. Meanwhile, Reyna had been tasked with the paperwork and late-night coffee. It looked like she might be pulling another all-nighter over this case when one of her agents stepped inside her work office._

 _"I know how I must sound," he attempted to explain._

 _"No, you really do not," Reyna retorted. Her anger at the accusation bubbled inside of her chest and rose to her throat as she snapped at the agent. Over her years, she had seen many things she thought were not possible and allowed debatably unethical behaviors to fly under her nose for the sake of catching a killer, but this was_ not _something she was_ _willing to tolerate. "You are accusing a good agent who has solved many cases for us in the past of manslaughter and homicide."_

 _Octavian opened his mouth to argue, but before a sound could come out of his mouth, Reyna silenced him with a flick of her finger and a hard glare, turning her attention back to the paperwork._

 _She was tired, she had a stack of paperwork she needed to file before tomorrow, and there was still a killer on the loose. Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano did not need the night to be as long as her name._

Who would accuse another agent of such a thing? _she thought to herself._ Nico di Angelo, most of all.

 _Sure, she had doubts about every single one of her agents and how far they could be pushed, Nico most of all. It was uncanny the way he drew the connections and the way he approached each case from the killer's point of view, but that was what good agents did. When she herself had been an investigator, her partner had told her that you run into a truly brilliant agent perhaps once or twice in your lifetime, and after seeing Nico di Angelo's work, Reyna agreed with the sentiment._

 _Whatever doubts she had about his abilities and how long he could keep it up, she had no doubts about his innocence._

 _After a long pause, Octavian sat down. He looked at her with those squinty watery-blue eyes; Reyna often wondered what went on behind them in that head of his. "Will you hear me out?"_

 _She put the pen down and placed her hands together on the table again with a sigh._

 _He interpreted the action correctly as a sign to start talking quickly and not waste any more her time. "I believe Nico di Angelo is the Harpy. I can explain."_

 _Reyna's nostrils flared. Despite her annoyance, she knew Octavian wasn't going to let it rest until she had heard every single word he had to say. She gestured for him to keep talking._

 _"The first thing I noticed was off was how quickly he found the connection between the killers. Everyone else here has looked over the case many times, but none of us managed to find the connection he did. It makes you wonder if he knows something no one else does."_

 _"He's a good investigator," Reyna replied. "He always has been; that's his_ job _."_

 _"I thought so, too," Octavian conceded. "Until we found the body of Thalia Grace. He took one look at the body and told us that she was the one the Harpy was after all along, the golden ticket, as he put it. I couldn't help but feel suspicious about his empathy with the killer."_

 _He took a deep breath before continuing. Reyna could tell he had thought this through many times and had many things to say._

 _"Furthermore, when I got there, I saw him circling the perimeter and looking in the trees for evidence or whatnot. Two seconds later, Rachel finds the murder weapon. How did he know where to look? How did he not find the weapon when he was looking over the exact same thing? I say that there's a very real possibility that he planted the murder weapon there while he was circling the perimeter for us to find, to lead us to Ethan Nakamura."_

 _"And it explains very well how Ethan Nakamura had a sketch of how the victims were murdered in his apartment."_

 _Octavian waved his hands. "He could've pulled that from any news story. This case has been all over the news. More to the point, I feel as if Nico di Angelo set him up. The woman at the factory told us Ethan was seeing a doctor before he quit; we know he wasn't stable and could've easily been susceptible to suggestion."_

 _"If he is the Harpy, why would he be working for us? So far, all he has provided are solid evidence and theories," Reyna questioned._

 _"If he is the Harpy, working for us would be the greatest advantage. He could point us in all the wrong directions before we pointed to him, and Ethan Nakamura would only be another person for him to pin the murders on. However, what convinced me to take this to you was tonight was how he shot Nakamura."_

 _"Nakamura had a gun."_

 _He continued as if she didn't say anything. "I'm aware, but it was the_ way _he shot Ethan Nakamura. I haven't see anyone shoot someone straight in the middle of the forehead in my entire career. You know that only happens in movies; no one has that kind of precision—unless you're a killer, and you've had practice. He didn't blink twice when he pulled the trigger. And you also saw that he didn't even react the way agents normally do when they kill their first."_

 _Reyna sighed, shaking her head. She rubbed her face vigorously, wishing that her problems could be scrubbed away just as easily._

 _After a long moment of silence, she spoke again. "All you are giving me are what-if's, hypotheticals, and theories. I need proof, and you know this. I can't investigate anything without solid ground." More annoyed than before at the time she wasted on Octavian, Reyna dismissed him._

 _She wished that she could dismiss her newfound doubts about Nico di Angelo just as quickly._

. . .

"Are they seriously just going to drop the case?" Nico asked. His eyebrows furrowed when he heard the news. How could anyone believe that the case was done when there was so much evidence otherwise? "This is ridiculous."

When the red flush in his cheeks had finally drained out of his face, Nico had made his way back to his office, feeling uncharacteristically too giddy for his own good. However, as always, his happiness was short lived; Reyna was waiting for him by his office door with the newest piece of bad news she had in store for him.

"I don't get a say in this," she told him as Nico unlocked the door. "I'm just the poor bastard who has to fill out the paperwork and follow their orders."

Nico cursed and ran a hand through his hair. Even though Reyna's superiors might have been blind to the facts, he was certain she was not. "You don't think that the case is finished, do you?"

"No."

"Then what do you plan to do?"

Reyna sighed. She lowered herself into the chair across from Nico's desk; he followed suit. It had been a long time since she sat in that chair across from his desk, though this time, the visit was certainly in better circumstances. When they last exchanged words across the wooden table, he had to explain himself for pulling a gun on school children—in his defense, the popping of their homemade fireworks _did_ sound like gunshots, after all.

"Working within my constraints is my speciality," she replied with a thin and knowing smile, crossing her legs. "Operating underneath topside isn't exactly the best position to be in, but I've learned my way around."

Nico had no doubt that the sharp assistant director had figured out all the loopholes to her job there were to be found.

"They've been flustered over this case for weeks," Reyna continued, sighing. "Now that there's finally someone they can pin these murders on to, they've latched onto it and aren't willing to let it go. I'm sure you can imagine."

Nico grimaced. Even though he'd never met anyone from above, he could imagine how they operated. "You don't agree."

"No, I don't. Unlike them, I care about saving lives, not racking up a solved cases count." Reyna narrowed her eyes. "There are some people—some people within this very building as well as outside of it, I'm afraid—who are obsessed with getting promotions and their own records ever since they set foot into this line of work. Eventually, it becomes less of a motivation and more of an infatuation, so much so that they forget the real reason they're here. You're not one of those people, and neither am I."

He blinked, little bit taken aback by the unexpected compliment. No matter how many times he was told he was good at his job, Nico was always surprised when it was brought up in conversation.

"On the record, I'm saying that the case is closed. Off the record, I'm going to keep the investigation going."

Nico's thoughts raced like scuttling centipedes, a million fragments of questions, doubts, ideas, and suspicions. However, he could only bring himself to ask one of them. "What do you want me to do then?"

"I can't give you any answers," Reyna replied curtly, uncrossing her legs. She stood up and dusted off her skirt, walking to the door in three quick strides. As she was halfway out the threshold, she said, "I have given you a day off, Nico di Angelo. Do what you want with it, and it won't go on the record."


	11. 11

**To the anon who commented about the writing, would you please explain in greater detail? I promise I won't yell at you or anything; I genuinely want to know where my writing is lacking so I can improve. Sorry about the delay getting this up. I had a hard time characterizing Annabeth, but I hope I did okay. TW: none.**

* * *

11.

Nico sighed as he looked at the slip of paper in his hand, killing the engine to his car. There were only a handful of mansions in Cincinnati and only one of them belonged to the psychologist he was looking for—Annabeth Chase. According to Hazel Levesque who worked back at the metal yard, Ethan was seeing her before his death. He bit his lip as he leaned back and looked at the white columns standing side by side, guarding a tall and black ornate wooden door.

Whoever designed the place had a talent for architecture; even someone with as minimal knowledge in the field as Nico could tell.

He debated with himself over going in there and asking questions. Part of him wanted to. He had a itch about this case that he just couldn't scratch, and he felt an overwhelming need to get to the bottom of everything. Besides, even if topside didn't think there was any more to the case, he knew it wasn't finished and a killer was still out there somewhere, probably gloating by now and laughing himself silly at their stupidity.

Even with all his intuition about the killer and knowing it was the right thing to do, part of him didn't want to. The case was officially closed; he had seen to that when he shot Ethan Nakamura. Poking around further could land him and Reyna both in serious trouble. Nico chewed on the inside of his cheeks, glancing like a paranoid deer at the mansion. Something about the house didn't feel right, something that spoke to his gut instinct.

"Screw it," he muttered to himself, opening the driver's side door and stepping out. He crumpled the piece of paper with Annabeth Chase's address on it into a fist.

Nico counted the blocks of concrete under his feet as he walked on the ruler-straight path to the front door. Taking in a deep breath, he could smell the scent of freshly mowed grass, radiating from the lawn on either side of him. Halfway between the street and the front door on either side of the lawn cut in half by the path were water fountains, one decorated with a sculpture of a rearing horse and the other with an owl in flight. Personally, he would kill to live in a place as beautiful and grand as this.

Now-dying rose bushes lined the perimeter around the balcony-like front porch, supported on either side by columns that seemingly hopped out of an Ancient Greek textbook. Nico climbed the steps of the porch, passed between them, and came to a halt in front of the wooden door he observed and debated over knocking while he sat in his car.

Taking a deep breath, he exchanged the crumpled piece of paper in his fist with his credentials and took the polished brass knocker in his hands. Slowly, he knocked three times, waiting with baited breath.

Almost immediately, he heard the familiar clacking of high heels knocking against hardwood floor, briskly approaching the door. Nico instinctively took a step back as he heard the door unlock. Without a single creak, the door swung open. Out of the corner of his mind, Nico made a note that the hinges were very well oiled to have made no sound at all when opening.

A tall and rather pretty woman with blonde tied in a bun gazed down at him with startling stormy-gray eyes. "Hello?"

"Annabeth Chase?" Nico asked.

"This is she."

"I'm Nico di Angelo, FBI. Do you mind if I asked you some questions?" He showed her his credentials and ID.

Annabeth Chase ran a tongue over her lip before replying. "If you must insist," she answered, stepping back and opening the door wider for Nico to enter. Muttering thanks, he ventured inside as Annabeth shut the door with a clang.

As soon as he stepped inside, Nico felt ridiculously underdressed and even more out of place. Annabeth Chase's attire of a gray pencil skirt that matched her eyes, a white blouse, and a black business jacket gave her the look of a business woman whereas he was only dressed in his dull aviator jacket, jeans, and converse. Next to her, he looked practically homeless, even more so in the extravagant interior of her home.

Nico had said to himself that whoever designed the place was highly skilled with architecture and designing when he was outside, and evidence of this was splattered everywhere in Annabeth Chase's home, from the spiral staircase off to the side to the slanted sky windows three stories above his head to the crystal chandelier hanging from the living room ceiling. A long hall leading to presumably even more well-designed rooms spread out towards his left. Even the wood beneath his shoes was polished; feeling bad for his dirty shoes stepping over the wooden surface, Nico kicked them off before taking any more steps.

"Thank you," Annabeth Chase commented when she saw him doing so. "I am rather a stickler of courtesy; I appreciate it. This way, agent."

She took a left turn and lead him away from the front door, walking away from the spiral staircase. Annabeth opened the second door onto her left, a black ornate door just like the front, though much smaller in size.

"Thank you," Nico said as he entered the office. It looked like an office, at any rate. Neatly organized bookshelves lined every available inch of the wall's surface while a work desk sat in a corner, organized stacks of paper held down by paperweights and a lamp resting on top. There were no windows, but the huge cylindrical lamp hanging from the ceiling made up for the lack of one. With a flick of a switch, Annabeth turned the lamp on, filling the room with fluorescent light.

"Sit," Annabeth commanded, gesturing towards the center of the office where two black leather couches faced each other. Next to one of them was a small glass table with a lamp on top. She herself sat down in the couch next to the bedside table. Nico sat in the other, facing her. "Before we begin, would you like a drink?"

Nico shook his head. "No, thank you."

Annabeth smiled a little wry smile. "Like I told you, agent, I'm a stickler for courtesy."

He swallowed, realizing it was probably rude to refuse something offered. "I'm in a hurry," he explained. "I promise I won't take up too much of your time; this will only take a minute."

"I will hold you to your word." Annabeth crossed her legs.

"So you are—excuse me, I should say that you _were_ —Ethan Nakamura's psychologist?"

Annabeth laughed, clearly amused. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person, agent. I am a _psychiatrist,_ not a psychologist. Contrary to the popular belief, there is a difference. If Mr. Nakamura had a psychologist, I'm afraid I would be unaware and even more sorry to say that you are speaking to the wrong person."

"Sorry," Nico apologized, flushing. Why didn't he check who she was before he hurried over here? He had remembered the small detail Hazel Levesque gave him back at the factory and followed it blindly. "One of Ethan Nakamura's co-workers directed me to you and said you were a psychologist."

"Understandable," Annabeth replied. "Apology accepted."

Nico cleared his throat and continued. "Did you notice anything different about Ethan Nakamura before his death?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong person yet again, agent. In the days before his death, I did not see Ethan Nakamura nor was I his psychiatrist. I referred him to a colleague of mine instead as I was taking a break from psychiatry."

"Why?" Nico asked, suddenly curious. He realized the question probably sounded rude the moment it left his mouth.

Annabeth tilted her head to one side. "Are you investigating me, agent?"

"No, no, not at all," Nico corrected himself, shaking his head. "I was merely curious."

With a smile, Annabeth answered. "Just one month ago right after my recent marriage, I decided it would be best to put off psychiatry for a while as I adjusted to the new way of life."

Silently, Nico cursed himself again for being discourteous. "Have I been referring to you by the wrong name this whole time?" he asked.

The psychiatrist smiled. "Not at all. I kept my maiden name. Are there any more questions for me, agent? Or are we going to turn the discussion around to my personal life now instead?"

Embarrassed, Nico cleared his throat again. "Did you think, before you referred Mr. Nakamura to another psychiatrist, that Ethan Nakamura could've been a serial killer?"

"Two days ago, I would be breaking doctor-patient confidentiality if I told you, agent. Not that it matters anymore to Mr. Nakamura, now that he is no longer with us. I can tell you now that the root of what I worked with in the time I spent with Ethan was his anger and his quick temper. He needed a person to vent to, and for the most part, a psychiatrist who listened to him and gave him advice was what he needed." She sighed. "Clearly, that alone was not enough. Even though Ethan had anger management difficulties, I do not see him as the serial killer newspapers paint him out to be, not even now with the overwhelming evidence."

Nico nodded. Realizing that he had hit a dead end, Nico asked the final question on his list. "One last question. Who was the psychiatrist you referred Ethan Nakamura to? Do you have his contact information by any chance?"

Annabeth ran a tongue over her lips again. "Luke Castellan," she said. "However, I believe he is currently out of the country. I will give you a call if I find out otherwise along with his phone number."

"Thank you."

His work with the psychiatrist done, Nico nodded and stood up, holding out his business card to her. Even though he did not find the answers he was looking for, there was nothing more to discuss with Annabeth Chase. Already, his mind was racing ahead to the next step of his investigation, to contact Luke Castellan, whoever he was. This time, he would make sure to confirm whether he was a psychiatrist or a psychologist before embarrassing himself during the questioning.

Mirroring him, she stood up, dusting her pencil skirt and accepting the business card. "Allow me to walk you to the door, agent."

Nico gave a mutter of thanks as she saw him out, awkwardly slipping his shoes back on at the front door. "Thanks once again. If there's anything else you think of that might be relevant to Ethan Nakamura, please don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Of course," she replied, one hand resting on the door. "Take care, agent."

The heavy black wooden door slammed closed before Nico di Angelo even turned around.


End file.
